


to no other i would yield

by meritmut



Series: i loved you well, when we were young [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Knives, Sif and Loki as young'uns yet to realise the joys of (un)resolved sexual tension, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 09:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meritmut/pseuds/meritmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is well old, but I realised I'd never posted it up here.</p><p>For my beloved murdur because it was born in her askbox.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to no other i would yield

"Do you yield?" The firm, taunting pressure of a fine-boned hand enclosing her throat makes it hard to respond, but Sif grits her teeth and jerks her head in a swift nod that Loki seems to accept as acquiescence to his 'superior' might. Satisfied, he relinquishes his grip around her neck.

He sits back on his haunches, still unabashedly straddling her hips (how young they are, she’ll reflect later in a quiet moment, that they could be as close as this with their spindly, coltish forms fitting so cluelessly and so perfectly together and neither would think anything of it, not even later when they’d left innocence behind and found new ways to be close in the shadowy twilights of forgotten yesterdays) - and that’s when Sif makes her move.

Clad in supple leather from neck to toe in her favourite shade of bloody wine-red, Sif is as lissome and dangerous as a hunting cat, and in the space between breaths she anchors her shoulders firmly against the hard ground and cants her hips upward to knock Loki from his perch. He wobbles and it’s enough - Sif twists from the waist, dislodging her opponent and giving herself enough leeway to wriggle up and away from him. A skull’s grin paints her face as she faces him down again.

"I never yield," she drawls, pulling a short and wickedly sharp-looking knife from her belt and flipping it so that its deadly point balances between the tips of her index finger and thumb. She could have his eye out in the blink of…well, an eye, but that isn’t her style (fortunately for him). She watches him with faint amusement, and Loki can only stare as she draws back her hand and lets fly.

The knife’s tip sinks into the dirt at Loki's feet and in the heartbeat’s span that his attention leaves her to focus on the weapon’s trajectory, she comes at him.

Another heartbeat and he’s flat on his back and winded, staring up into Sif's enormous green eyes and she’s snatching up the knife she'd deliberately placed within arm’s reach (she's a clever one, is this strange young soldier) - and levelling it against his bare throat.

That grim smile still plays across her lips as she gently presses the point into his skin, careful not to break it.

"Yield?" she echoes lightly, running her tongue over her lower lip. Neither her hand nor the knife waver in the slightest - her control is impeccable, the pale steel perfectly still and less than an whisper from the exposed flesh of his neck. Loki trusts in that hand to remain still, and tilts his head slightly to look up at her.

He grins.

"Never."


End file.
